


Inexplicable Heat

by Annabelle_W



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Dean Winchester, Alpha Sam Winchester, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Beta Jack Kline, F/M, First Time, Love Triangles, M/M, Omega Castiel (Supernatural), Omega Donna Hanscum, Omega Rowena MacLeod, POV Alternating, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2019-11-15 18:05:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18078398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annabelle_W/pseuds/Annabelle_W
Summary: How could Castiel possibly have gone into heat?  Angel don't have secondary genders, and, anyway, Jimmy was a beta.It doesn't help that, suddenly, his two alpha best friends are looking at him differently . . .





	1. Burning

**Author's Note:**

> Please forgive any typos. I'm recovering from the flu and not functioning at full capacity. Hopefully my sentences will at least make sense.

Castiel's POV

Two days ago:

Sam lands a punch on our latest antagonist before being sent flying across the (well-decorated) room until he crashes into a coffee table. Dean screams "Sammy!", attacks the villain with both fists. He gets thrown in the opposite direction of Sam. Hope our enemy wasn't too fond of that etched glass bowl.

He stretches to his full, considerable height (I don't know if he's quite as tall as Sam, but his musculature makes him nearly twice as wide). "I am Ares, god of War," he declares, his voice making the glass in all the windows rattle. "You puny mortals should worship me!"

Dean rolls his eyes as he scrambles to his feet. "You all say that. It doesn't stop us from killing you." The eyes he just rolled flash red for a moment.

Sam approaches from the living room, his own, normally hazel, eyes glowing scarlet, a silver machete in his hand. "You manipulated people into being so angry with their neighbors--half their neighbors--that they formed factions and broke into turf wars." His alpha fangs extend. "In twenty-seven towns across the Midwest."

Dean adds, "Two hundred and eleven people are dead because of you." His glare freezes as icily as alpha red can make it.

In one of their breathtaking moments of perfect sync, the Winchesters spin forward, each grabbing an arm. "Now, Cas!" Sam orders.

I hurry forward, grab the god's face, smite him using grace stored up for just this purpose.

"Have fun in Purgatory," Dean spits.

Today:

Warm. No, hot. Very hot. Feverish. Why would my vessel be feverish?

I can't seem to heal myself. Maybe my lack of power and my temperature are related: I could have severely depleted my grace.

Wait, there's more.

What is this ache deep within my core? And why do I feel empty? Am I so low on grace that my vessel requires nourishment? But, I'm not hungry. Not exactly. Not for food, anyway.

Oh. OH!

I'm aroused. That is a kind of hunger. Though not one I have much experience with. That one time I accidentally watched porn. Meg. April. Hannah. That's it. Unless you count Jimmy's erotic memories of his wife.

Still, why would I be? I'm alone in the Bunker, not in the presence of an attractive female and certainly not watching porn or accessing Jimmy's memories (assuming I still can--this vessel being a copy of a copy of a copy of a copy of Jimmy).

Also, now that I'm actively recalling Meg's smile, April's hair, Hannah's eyes, I realize that they're not doing anything for me. If one of those ladies was alive, standing before me, asking me to take her, to be with her, I would send her away.

Could my sexuality--such as it is--have changed?

Jimmy was a straight beta male. When I was (briefly) human, I was a straight beta male. My previous vessels were mostly nuns or monks so holy, so focused on God, as to have few sexual urges, let alone experiences. (Yes, Jimmy's carnal thoughts took some getting used to). Anyway, the few times I felt attraction were always in reaction to women.

Now I long for someone taller, bigger, stronger, more dominant.

Someone like . . . .

"Cas, we're home!" Dean's voice. Ultra deep, with a slight rasp from lung damage.

"We brought you a burger." Sam's voice. Slightly less deep. Sweet, empathic.

A gush of--something--pours out of an area of my body I've had no use for since recovering my grace. (Well, to be accurate, another angel's grace first and a that of a second angel after that). I can feel the seat of my pants grow damp and I'm grateful all of a sudden to be sitting down.

Sam's voice continues, growing louder as he and his brother move closer to where I'm ensconced in the library. "We would have been here sooner, but Dean felt the need to flirt with every woman we met, including the postal worker."

"She was hot!" Dean defends himself, sounding affronted.

"She was also an alpha." I can almost hear Sam rolling his eyes.

"I can be versatile," Dean insists.

A sigh. "Okay. TMI, dude."

They walk into the room and freeze simultaneously, nostrils flaring, eyes igniting.

"Cas, you . . . ." Dean staggers.

"Cas, how . . . ?" Sam gapes.

"I seem to have taken ill," I respond to their unfinished sentences.

They look at each other, an incredulous exchange of glances, followed by a wordless communication. Sam approaches me slowly, hands held out. "Cas, do you understand what's happening to your body?"

I catalog my symptoms: fever, lust, bizarre aches. "Perhaps some variety of flu."

Dean shakes his head, laughs. "Nope. Try again, buddy."

Sam touches my shoulder, speaks gently. "You've gone into heat."

"That's not possible."


	2. Sizzling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still not completely over the flu. So, we'll see how coherent this chapter is.

Dean's POV

Fresh, hot cherry pie. Cinnamon. Gun powder. Plus, the distinctive, head-spinning, sweet, powerful scent of omega in heat. Tantalizing, dizzying. Arousing. My knot is swelling, my fangs descending. Based on the ruby haze of the room, my eyes burn scarlet. Must knot. No!--He's my best friend. Must not. Must knot. Must not. And how does he not know he's in heat?

"That's not possible," the stubborn, beautiful (Where did that adjective come from?) angel insists. Has his growly voice always been so sexy? "Angel's don't go into heat, not even when we have omega vessels. It's for the same reason we don't eat or sleep or age or . . . do other things. We freeze our vessels in time. Sort of." He pauses, wipes sweat off his forehead, rubs the moisture between his fingers in evident confusion. "And Jimmy wasn't an omega. He was a beta." Cas frowns.

Sam has not removed his hand from Castiel's shoulder. "I know," he says, his tone soft, irritatingly(?) caring. "But technically this isn't Jimmy's vessel. Could you have been brought back . . . different?" Is he caressing the angel's shoulder?

Cas considers this, his lithe body growing inhumanly still. "Before letting me leave the Empty, the Entity told me that he was giving me what I most deeply desired." His eyes narrow. "I thought he was just confirming that he was sending me back to earth, to my vessel, to you." He looks at first Sam, then me, blue eyes piercing me for a moment. "I guess he could have meant he was remaking my vessel instead of just rebuilding it." He cocks his head. "Though I don't know why that's what I most desire."

Cas needs to stop saying that word. Desire. It's affecting certain body parts. Body parts that really should not be so interested in a friend I love like a brother. "Okay, but that doesn't explain your heat." My voice is gruff, impatient. Where's my omega-killer charm when I need it? And why would I need it? This is my BFF, not a prospective hook-up. Still, my tone is quieter, more soothing, when I add, "Didn't you say that angels don't have heats?"

Huge, luminous, beautiful eyes turn to me. They drop to my mouth, flash gold. He blinks. His face blooms rosier, his scent intensifies. "Yes," he confirms, a bit breathlessly, "This shouldn't happen."

Sam's hand moves from Cas' shoulder to his neck. "It could be a spell. Or, maybe," he leans back, studies Cas, "you're just reacting to us. Could your grace be depleted?"

Cas stills. His eyes glow grace-blue, the shadow of feather-light wings brushes against the bookcases. He shakes his head, staring up at Sam. (They are still too close). "It's the same as it's been since Metatron."

"That's something else that doesn't make sense," I blurt out. Sam and Cas break eye contact to look at me. "Why is your grace still at the level it was when you got it back from Metadouche?--I mean, shouldn't you have come back with all of it?"

Sam straightens as much as he can without letting go of Cas. "The two might be related. The entity could be messing with you, making your grace weaker and your vessel omega."

Cas leans into Sam's grasp. "That does sound like him. He really . . . resented me."

I wonder--not for the first time--if Cas has been completely forthcoming about his experiences with the guardian of the Empty. Still: "That doesn't explain your heat!" 

No answer. Sam's free hand wanders into Castiel's dark hair.

The room becomes shades of blazing red. My fists clench. "That also doesn't explain why you keep touching him!"

Sam freezes. Very slowly raises his head to regard me with eyes as ruby as mine. "Do you have a claim on him I don't know about?" His voice is low, barely above a growl.

I can feel the hairs on the back of my neck standing up. "Neither of us has a claim on him." I step forward. "Which is why neither of us should touch him without his permission." 

Sam lets go of Cas (finally!), moves to stand in front of him. "What are you insinuating?"

Seriously? And why is my brother--scratch that: Why is another alpha between me and that delectable-smelling omega? Who happens to also be my best friend, which means that I have better claim on him. He should be mine. That alpha needs to be taught a lesson. I swing my fist.

"Stop! Now!" Castiel is suddenly pushing Sam and me apart (when did we get so close to each other?). "You WILL NOT fight over me." His eyes are glowing angel blue again. He looks dangerous, powerful. He smells sweet, appealing. The combination is utterly seductive. 

I blink, trying to clear my head. "Sorry, Cas."

"Yeah, sorry." Sam hangs his head, his hair flopping over his face, hiding his reddened cheeks.

Cas studies (admires?) him for a beat longer than I appreciate. "Better be."

"Looks like we've arrived in the nick of time!" a cheery female voice interjects. Jeans, brown suede jacket, curves galore. Donna.

Who, last I checked was taking Jack to meet his pseudo-sister Claire. Which means the kid is home in time to see two of his dads drooling over the third. That's not at all embarrassingly inappropriate. 

"Jody said to give you some leftover chicken, mashed potatoes, candied carrots, and pie." Jack wanders into the library, arms full of Tupperware containers. He looks up, fails to notice the tension simmering amongst the adults, instead observes the forgotten bag of fast food. "I see you already have dinner."

Sam hurries forward, takes the containers from Jack. "Yes, but there's not enough for all of us." He backs out of the room. "I'll just heat these up."

I can't let Sam do all the work. He's not the only one feeling discombobulated. "I should set the table."

Donna grins at me. "I'll get the beer. I brought a Norwegian brand I think you'll love." She winks at me, scuttles out.

I glance back before I leave the room. Jack sits across from Cas, head cocked, gaping at the angel in clear befuddlement. 

Even a naive, innocent beta half-human senses Cas' state.

*

Donna sets down her empty bottle. "Now that we've concluded this pleasant, unusually quiet meal, could one of you kind gentlemen explain to me why your genderless angel is in heat?"

Jack squints at Cas. "You're in heat?"

Cas glares at Donna. "Angels are not genderless. I am male."

Sam quickly intercedes. "We don't know why he's in heat. We don't even know how he became an omega. If he is one."

Donna raises an eyebrow.

"It could be a spell," Cas informs her. He pauses, adds, "It's obviously a spell. But we don't know if my vessel has really changed gender."

"I can help with that." Donna's sunny smile softens to a soothing one. "We're trained to do quick gender tests on all our prisoners, so omegas aren't accidentally placed with horny alphas." Her smile fades out of existence, a grim frown replacing it. "Some rapists take powerful scent blockers."

I shudder, imagining a hapless omega brought in for, say, weed possession and forced to share a cell with someone who seems innocuous but proves to be stronger, faster, and determined to assault him.

"Besides," Donna adds. "I'm an omega. So, not only will I know what to look for but I have no interest in taking advantage of you."

I set down my (third) beer. "Wait. You're an omega?" She's a tall, confident sheriff. I was certain she was a beta.

That grin again. "You betcha. Scent blockers work both ways."

Huh. "So, are you and Jody . . . ?"

She shakes her head, blonde ponytail bouncing. "She made a few moves, but I am only attracted to tall, muscular, MALE alphas." She winks.

I wonder what she smells like under all those blockers?

*

"Definitely an omega," Donna reports.

Sam's hazel eyes meet mine. "So a spell to turn him omega or a spell to put him in heat?" He huffs. "Either way, a spell. Time to call Rowena."


	3. Scorching

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to focus on writing when I'm depressed over the announcement that the show's ending. I wish I could at least trust Dabb to deliver a satisfying ending, but all of his finales have been underwhelming. Predictable. Lacking emotional resonance. He is not the man I want writing the series ender.

Sam's POV:

The sweet scent of fertile omega permeates the Bunker. There's a farmer's market a couple hours from here that's only open on Tuesdays. One of the sellers specializes in berries. The first time I tasted one of her cherries, the flavor exploded on my tongue. So fresh, so naturally sweet, so intense. I closed my eyes in bliss. If food can be a revelation, that cherry was one. It was, in a small way, reminiscent of my first true experience of the divine--the Halloween I walked into that motel room and saw angels. The day I met Cas.

Fitting, perhaps, that he currently smells the way that cherry tasted. With accents of ozone and freshly-mown grass. Enticing. Far too enticing.

I'm pacing again.

Every time I sit at my computer to research heat-related hexes and sex spells, I find myself thinking about Cas all flushed and bright-eyed, I find myself scenting the air, I find myself growing hard, I find myself wishing, longing. And, next thing I know, I'm out of my chair and stomping back and forth, back and forth, across the room.

When I first glimpsed Cas, I was still only half weaned off demon blood. My body zinged with power, even as it begged for more blood than the increasingly small amounts I drank. (The cold turkey method Dean forced on me--twice!--might have been faster, and certainly more permanent, but it was horrifically painful). Anyway, the blood in me recoiled from Castiel's greatness, even as it gave me a peek at his true magnificence. Huge, powerful wings. Vivid halo. A face too bright, too beautiful to look upon. I stammered, rambled, jabbered. He coolly, accurately, bluntly described me as "The boy with the demon blood." I froze. The vision faded into a handsome beta. His vessel. Jimmy.

And now, Jimmy's long gone. Cas inhabits a gorgeous omega. And my initial attraction has zoomed back, a thousandfold. 

I am driving myself crazy.

Where is Rowena?

Oh, good, that must be her knocking.

*

Rowena stares at us for fully five minutes after magically examining Cas.

"Well?" I say, impatience winning out.

"This body," she points as Cas, "has not been altered by a spell or other mystical force."

That answers one question. The guardian of the Empty has a unique sense of humor. He altered Jimmy's vessel in a way that Cas would never normally have even noticed (internal organs seem to matter little to angels and externally Jimmy would look and feel the same. I think. Having never studied the external differences--if any--between male betas and male omegas).

"So, how am I in heat?" The angel's calm tone is belied by his rosy, glistening features, fever-bright eyes, a slight trembling in his lovely form, and, most of all, that beguiling, tempting, maddening smell.

Rowena smiles enigmatically behind her copper curls. "You seem to have been activated." She taps her chin with one slender, pale, manicured finger. "Your angelic essence stops your body, prevents it from aging or going into fertile cycles. Somebody restarted it."

"So how do we restart it?" Dean sounds angry. "And how do we gank the monster that did this?"

Rowena raises a perfectly plucked eyebrow. "Are you sure that's what you want?"

Dean slams his hand on the table. "Of course I'm sure," he growls, eyes gleaming red.

She smirks. "Well, then you'll have to be patient. And you might just have to wait it out."

Translation: she has no idea who cursed Cas or whether the curse is reversible. 

Dean has reached the same conclusion. He pushes back his chair, jumps to his feet. "In that case, I'm going out." His eyes flash red with distrust when they meet mine. (Seriously?) He turns to Donna. "Keep on eye on feathers for me." A quick glare in my direction. "Don't let anyone near him."

Donna raises on eyebrow. (Dean seems to be having that affect on women today). "You betcha."

"Good." He marches toward the stairs. "Don't wait up."

As if we haven't all figured out that the omega heat pheromones have him desperate to hook up.

*

He's not the only one.

My jeans feel too tight, my body too warm, my fingers too restless. My head fills with vivid images of tangling my fingers into Castiel's black hair, kissing his pale pink lips, running my hands up and down his chest, biting his unmarked neck, playing with small masculine nipples, sinking into his wet, welcoming body . . . .

I throw my book across the room.

"Trying to literally throw a book at the subject?" Rowena asks archly.

I glare at her. "What are you doing in here?--I thought you were on guard duty." I grind my teeth at the memory that my brother felt the need to guard our best friend against me. Worse was how seriously everyone took him: Donna and Jack and Rowena actually arranged a watch schedule. Cas is a freaking angel of the lord! He can protect himself. Especially against his (second) closest friend. Who wants to defile him. Guess I do need to be guarded against.

Rowena slinks closer. "I won't help you sneak into the wee angel's room."

I snort.

She caresses my bicep. "But maybe I can help you with something else."

She's propositioning me? Really?

She pulls her glorious hair from her braid, tosses it. Her omega pheromones dance about the room, not as enticing as Castiel's, but, wow. Lavender, mint, pine. She smells wild and sweet. And there's no contesting her beauty.

When she brushes her fingers against my groin, I don't back away. When she unzips my jeans, I groan in surrender. When she presses a teasing nip to my chest, I lift her off the ground, slam our lips together.

Two minutes later, I have her spread out on the library table.

My knot begins to swell, promising imminent relief. "Wait. Stop." The tiny witch pushes me off of her and out of her.

I gasp. "What?" Why am I no longer thrusting into a warm, willing omega?

Rowena starts pulling on her clothes. "I think I know what happened to your handsome angel."

"Okay." This couldn't have waited fifteen minutes?--Like until we were knotted together?

She regards my half-naked, desperate state, smirks. "If this is what I think, you'll thank me for stopping."

I fumble with my clothes, attempting to process her words when my blood is still very far south of my brain.

"It's time to summon an old friend."


	4. Simmering

Castiel's POV:

Trench coat off, blazer gone, barefoot, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up, two (no, three) buttons undone. I feel almost naked. Naked. Why did I let myself think the word "naked"? Now my hormonal, heat-addled brain is supplying me with fantasies of being pinned down by a sizable alpha. Huge hands caress my face, beautiful eyes (are they long-lashed and green or slanted and hazel?) gaze tenderly upon my visage, soft lips dominate my mouth. I lift my hands to tangle them in his hair (is it long and dark or short and sandy?). A long, lean, muscular body slides between my legs, presses me into the mattress . . . .

"There's something I don't understand." Jack's quiet, perplexed voice interrupts my fiery, lustful thoughts. "I've read that omegas in heat smell amazing--and you do smell good--but it's not overwhelming. I know that betas aren't as sensitive as alphas, but I don't feel . . . anything." He frowns.

Jack, with his strange mix of maturity and innocence, cannot figure out why he is not attracted to me. It's oddly endearing. I reach for him, touch his shoulder. "Jack," I tell him, "Your physiology recognizes me as family. That's why my scent doesn't call to you."

He cocks his head, giving me curious sense of familiarity. So often he reminds me of myself, in gestures, mannerisms, even appearance. He could almost be my son by blood and grace as well as love. He comments: "But Sam and Dean see you as family, too. Don't they?--Why are they affected?"

And why am I so affected by them? I can only say with certainty "We're not family in the same way that you and I are." Where Jack is my adopted son, Sam and Dean are my friends, my brothers, my fellow soldiers. I've never seen either of them in a romantic or sexual light before. Becoming an omega, even an omega in heat, should not have changed that.

"Are you decent?" a Scottish-accented voice trills. Rowena steps into the room, notices me sitting fully clothed (though somewhat less so than usual). "How disappointing."

Jack frowns again. "Aren't you an omega, too?"

Rowena simpers. "I'm attracted to handsome men of all genders." She winks.

Jack blushes. 

I roll my eyes. "Did you need something?"

She swivels her lovely head back in my direction. "Yes. I need you to come to the dungeon. We might have solution to your" her eyes drop to my midsection "problem." Her slender hips sway as she saunters out the door.

*

I'm not surprised to find the dungeon brimming with spell ingredients, but I wasn't expecting to see the clear design for a summoning spell. If Sam knows who cursed me, why hasn't he told me?

Maybe because he was too busy showering? Sam's glorious hair falls in damp curls around his chiseled face. (Since when do I think of him in such terms?) He smells of expensive shampoo and shaving cream. Shaving cream? Come to think of it, he is a bit less scruffy than usual.

"Are we summoning this witch or whatever or are we standing around looking at each other?" Dean casually moves between Sam and me, biceps rippling distractingly on his crossed arms. He has the wet hair and fresh smell from a recent shower, too.

Huh. If their goal is to impress me, it's not quite working. Sure they look (what's that word Dean likes?) hot, but, personally, I would have preferred the opposite tactic. Sam sweaty and shirtless from a recent run, Dean oil-covered from working on the Impala. Alpha musk pouring off them.

And I am leaking slick at an alarming rate.

And, in the process, perfuming the air, based on the hungry, slack-jawed, red-eyed gapes of the Winchesters.

"Let's get started before the alphas rip each other apart." Rowena sounds amused. "Or decide to share the angel and treat us to a threesome."

Sam and Dean growl at first her then each other.

Rowena smirks. "Guess not. Pity." She waves her arms, chanting, occasionally tossing some ingredients into a bowl. 

Normally, I would recognize the language (to the specificity of knowing the dialect, origin of every word, identity of the most important native speakers, etc). Normally, the sight and smell of every herb, mineral or animal part would be immediately familiar to me.

Normally, my head isn't swimming at the proximity of a couple of virile alphas. 

Rowena's tone grows louder before cutting off right as golden light flashes.

A woman solidifies inside the protection circle. A blindingly beautiful woman. I'm not the only person in the room blinking rapidly. Tall, curvaceous, delicate features, wide blue-violet eyes, cascading platinum curls. Haughty, almost bored expression.

"To what do I owe the pleasure, Rowena?" The stunning stranger coolly examines her scarlet-painted nails.

Sam steps forward. "You can explain to us why you cursed our friend."

Dean moves beside him. "Unless you're no longer interested in living." He taps his gun, which is no doubt loaded with witch-killing bullets.

Rowena smiles enigmatically at them. "Gentlemen, lady" she inclines her head at Donna "meet Aphrodite, goddess of love."

Now that I take a second look, I can see the power coiling off of her. "Ah, Ro," she says, "You brought me to the Winchesters. Is it my birthday?" The air around her shimmers, sparkles. "I was hoping for a chance to play with them a little more."

"Listen, you little harpy." Dean growls, "you take this curse off him this instant or I will kill you."

Aphrodite is still addressing Rowena. "I can see why you like these two so much. They're so feisty, so big. I'd rather like to climb one of them." She looks appraisingly at first Dean, then Sam. "I'm guessing you have a thing for the giant. You always did like men who are easy to spot in a crowd." I consider pointing out that Dean's model good looks and easy ensure he always stands out, but I'm struck by the way Sam clears his throat, studies his boots. Did he and Rowena . . . ? The love goddess continues, "Didn't you have a fling with Loki recently?"

I gag, all licentious thoughts flying from my mind. Finding my brother wrapped around the witch was among the most uncomfortable moments of my existence.

"Actually," Rowena corrects, "it was an archangel. Now, what did you do to his wee brother?" She points at me.

The goddess regards me archly. "Ah, the little angel. You killed the man I love."

"No, we didn't," Sam interjects. "We've never even met Hephaestus."

Aphrodite tosses her flowing tresses. "I divorced that clumsy nerd centuries ago." Her eyes narrow. "You murdered Ares."

"He was killing people!" Dean argues.

She raises a sculpted eyebrow. 

"Okay, he was making people kill each other." He replaces his gun with a silver knife, brandishes it. (Slick pools in my core in response to that manly display). "Either way, he needed to die."

"Well, you needed to learn what it's like to suffer, to pine." She smooths her fingers down her voluptuous body, magically changing her red silk top and black velvet leggings into a slinky purple dress. "I ensured that."

"What. Did. You. Do?" Sam's eyes glow crimson. 

She studies her nails again. They shimmer, turn purple to match her new outfit. "I activated his omega nature. Naturally, that caused him to go into heat."

Rowena moves forward, tilts her head curiously. "Is there more to it than that?"

"His heat won't end until he mates with his true mate." The eyes that meet mine are smug. "And these two will long for him until they find their own true mates. I arranged it so he will smell perfect to both of them." Sam and Dean look at each other. "And, finally, neither of them will be able to find completion with anyone who isn't his true mate."

"As I suspected," Rowena comments, "You can thank me now, Samuel."

Sam glares at her.

Dean mutters to himself, his handsome features uncomfortable, "Explains a lot."

I remember suddenly that Dean went out last night, presumably for a hook-up. He must have been humiliated when he was unable to finish. Fury builds within me.

"Wait a minute," Sam says. "My true mate died years ago. And he" he points at me "doesn't have one. Angel don't have souls, so they can't have soulmates." He glowers at Aphrodite. "What happens to us?"

She shrugs. "Guess you better hope for short lives. Maybe you could join a monastery."

The fury that was building within me explodes. I rush forward, lift my hands, smite her.


	5. Warming

Dean's POV:

The love goddess collapses to the ground, no longer vibrant, no longer beautiful, nothing but a husk. Castiel's eyes fade from their angelic glow to their normal (stunning) luminescence. Vivid blue shot with omega gold.

Too much gold. He's still in heat.

Still flushed, still glowing, still sweet-smelling. Which means, he's still invitingly slick and open, his body begging for a knot.

I swallow.

"Looks like killing her didn't break this enchantment." Sam sounds wry.

Our eyes meet for a moment. "Guess not," I reply. I grimace, recalling the humiliation of being asked if I needed to take something after finding myself incapable of knotting a gorgeous beta earlier this evening. Am I going to be stuck in forced celibacy forever? So will Sam, I suppose, although I'm not entirely certain he'll know the difference. And Cas. Cas will be in heat forever. Literally forever, since he's an angel. Although . . . . "What if Cas switched vessels?--Wouldn't that end his heat?" I ignore the pang that stabs me at the thought of never again seeing that tousled black hair, those gorgeous eyes, full pink lips, tanned skin.

Rowena considers this, shakes her head after a moment. "Wouldn't work. This is a variation of Aphrodite's true love gift. It's tied to his essence, not his body."

Sam looks interested. "What does the true love gift normally look like?"

I clench my fists, grind my teeth. Is this really the time for an intellectual discussion on the powers of a dead goddess?

Rowena slinks closer to Sam. "Back when she was worshiped as a goddess, people used to beg Aphrodite for help finding their true mates. Of course, like all goddesses, she was capricious." Rowena smiles fondly, sighs when she glances at her fallen friend. "She told one man he would recognize his mate because his hair would start to grow in her presence. Then she took all of it. Crown to toe." She illustrates this with a sweeping gesture. "Poor man was bare as a babe." She titters.

I shudder. Sam runs a hand through his abnormally long locks.

Rowena's lips twitch in amusement. "And, of course, you gentlemen are hardly the first to be unable to find completion except in the arms of your true love. That was always a favorite of hers." She swiftly gathers up the spell detritus. "After all, if you are seeking your true mate, you shouldn't want to be with anyone else." She pauses. "Of course, that was always paired with a method for finding one's mate." Her expression grows distant, nostalgic. "I remember one woman who was told she would only find her future husband if she walked backwards for the next week."

"Sounds more like a trickster than a love goddess," I grumble.

"So these three," Donna moves forward, gestures vaguely to Sam, Cas, and me, "will be doomed to unfulfilling sex until they happen to sleep with their mates?" She gulps, sympathetic horror dashing across her pretty face. I recall that she's had two mates--neither a true pairing--and that she possesses a strong appreciation for the masculine form. I suspect she takes up the offers of the alphas always hitting on her more often than she'll ever admit.

Rowena sighs, her eyes dropping. "Yes. And they won't even recognize their mates by smell since their alphas have been tricked into a scent preference for the wee angel and his omega for them." She heads for the door, tossing one final comment over her shoulder. "Not that they would have noticed their mates beforehand."

I glare at her retreating back. "What's that supposed to mean?'

Sam yells. "I did notice my mate. Her name was Jessica!" His eyes spark red.

Castiel's orbs shift between angel blue and omega gold. "And I'm an angel. Angels don't have mates!" Half the light bulbs explode.

*

A restless night's sleep and hours of researching later and I am more than ready for a break. We've managed to learn that it is possible for an alpha to have more than one true mate, but that it's extremely rare. And all records refer to the alpha having a beta mate and an omega, not two omegas. 

"There's lots of lore on nephilim," Jack comments. "I guess we used to be a lot more common." A quick, rueful smile. "But nothing on whether any of the angels and humans were a true pairing."

Donna interjects, "I still don't get how soulmate magic worked on Castiel. He doesn't have a soul, right?"

Rowena pauses from taking suspiciously detailed notes from a huge, ancient grimoire. "This is about the essence of a person. His grace is the equivalent of a soul for certain purposes."

And. I'm really done. "What it amounts to," I growl, "is that his body and his grace are working together to convince him to seek a mate who probable doesn't exist!" I slam my book shut. "I'm going to make dinner." Food always settles me. And cooking will give me a longer stretch of research-free time than ordering take-out. "You in the mood for anything, Cas?"

Blue eyes rise from the Enochian-filled pages of a book, meet mine. Wow, he's beautiful. "Cheeseburgers." That deep, growly voice. "And ice cream." His eyebrows lift in surprise at his craving.

Donna touches his arm sympathetically. "I always want a gallon of rocky road during my heats."

"Do we have an chocolate syrup?" Jack asks.

Burgers and ice cream it is.

*

"Need any help?" Donna slips into the kitchen, glances sneakily behind her. "If I wanted to be buried in books all day, I would be a librarian."

I laugh. "You and me both."

She flips her curly blonde hair over her shoulder before washing her hands. I catch myself staring at her soft white neck. It's not entirely unmarked--I can see the faint remnants of the scars from her failed matings--but the flesh is so pale, so lovely, so biteable. Plus, the gentle swishing of her tresses sends a whiff of her natural scent in my direction. Her blockers must have faded into nonexistence during our research marathon. She smells of roses and leather and lemon. A reminder that she is as tough as she is feminine. 

Good to know I can still appreciate the scent of omegas other than Cas, even if their aromas don't call to me the way his does. So, if I come across my mate, I will be attracted to him (or her), but my alpha brain won't be screaming 'Mine!', so I won't know that's who I just met. Frustrating.

Donna picks up a knife, starts slicing tomatoes. "Ooh, these are fresh!" she declares. "You get them at a farmer's market?"

"Yeah, there's one just outside of town." Sam insists we buy all our fruits and veggies from there. He eats most of them, so he might as well choose where they come from. Personally, I've never noticed the difference. 

She grins. "I'll have to visit before I leave."

I suppress a sudden, bizarre urge to offer to take her. Instead of informing her that she and Sam can have fun bonding over rabbit food. I hide my frown by returning my attention to the stove, flipping the burgers, topping them with slices of cheddar cheese. 

"Those smell amazing." Donna's voice sounds way too close. "Who knew that the big, bad, alpha is a good cook?"

I can feel her body heat, her scent wafts around me. My eyes drift shut. Is she going to step even closer? Will those full curves press against my back? I take a breath. There are too many pheromones in this Bunker! I want to push her against the fridge, kiss that generous mouth, squeeze those gorgeous breasts, pull those golden curls.

"Hey, Dean." Jack's sweet naivete interrupts my inappropriate thoughts. "Sam figured it out."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I think Donna is hot.


	6. Boiling

Sam's POV:

Jack sits close beside Cas, encouraging him to take sips of water, insisting on fetching books for him, borrowing a small fan from Dean's room to blow in his direction. There's a shameful part of me that envies this--that wants to be the one to pamper my (sorry, the) omega. Still, the rest of me relishes the sight of my adopted son caring for his other father. One of his other fathers. Anyway. I can almost imagine Cas is Jack's om. That I'm his sire. That he was born to loving mates instead of a deceived (raped) beta and the literal devil. 

Cas already shines from feverish sweat, glows rosy pink, sweetens the room with his scent. It's not hard to picture him flushed from the exertion of giving birth, handing me a small bundle, asking if I want to meet our child.

My hormones--already tangoing thanks to the excess of pheromones filling the room--helpfully rappel into my daydream with technicolor, x-rated videos of Cas and me creating that fictitious baby. Helpful. I really don't need to get hard right now, especially since everyone in the room would be able to smell my inconvenient arousal. Also, I have a suspicion the true mate gift prevents me from even masturbating successfully, so there would be no relief on the horizon. 

Well, that sobering thought cooled me quickly.

Still. I can't get the picture of Cas holding a newborn out of my head. I know that the human mothers of nephilim die giving birth, but what of angelic mothers?--The angels who produced half-human children can't all have been in male or alpha vessels. That might not be relevant information, but . . . .

"Hey, Jack, could I see one of those books on nephilim?" I stretch my hand in his direction.

"I haven't looked in that one yet," he tells. "The others haven't been very helpful." Discouragement wrinkles his young face.

This prompts an immediate chorus of comforting words, even from Rowena. I knew she had a soft side.

Jack settles, perks with renewed optimism. 

I flip through the antique, leather-bound volume. Here we go. Yes, some nephilim were born to angelic mothers. No, they didn't die. I glance at Cas again. A tendril of black hair has fallen across his forehead. He shifts in his seat, perhaps in discomfort from leaking slick. This beautiful, fertile omega could have a child. Should he find his true mate anyway. Sex with anyone else would be both fruitless (in more than one sense of the term) and unfulfilling. 

And that brings us back to the original question: does he, could he, have a true mate? Why were humans created to be sufficiently compatible with angels as to produce offspring? Chuck must have had a reason.

Wait.

Wait, wait, wait. Kevin found something about that in one of the tablets. Before he started coding his notes. 

I lurch to my feet, ignore the stares as I stumble towards the folder where I keep Kevin's papers. Yes. Here it is. Each angel's grace aligns with one human's soul. Just one through all the millennia of human history. Even if they never meet while the human lives--as, I suspect, is likely--the angel will be drawn to his human's heaven (angel mates are never sent to hell. Except in certain rare situations) and the two will spend eternity together. 

Unless or until the angel is sent to the Empty, I suppose. 

There's hope for Cas! My heart rejoices even as it breaks over the predictable reality that Cas was never meant to be mine.

*

Supper is a giddy affair. Dean has always been an excellent cook. (I might be biased, considering his culinary skills were developed with my picky tween and adolescent tastes in mind). Turns out Donna has a talent for side dishes. The unbelievably mouthwatering result of their collaboration has me getting seconds and considering thirds.

I'm not the only one. Our collective gluttony cleans the platters. Even Cas polishes off two burgers, a sizable serving of pasta salad, at least two beers. Guess those omega hormones produce an impressive appetite even in someone who doesn't need to eat.

Lots of drinking, lots of chatter, lots of laughter. This curse that isn't technically a curse can be broken. We all have mates. Theoretically. Dean has one. Probably a sweet-faced, curvy brunette. A variation of Lisa. Cas has one. I clench my fists under the table. I really shouldn't hate someone I've never met. I have some beta (presumably a girl, since true mateships always seem to be based as much on procreation possibilities as the compatibility of the people involved) to look forward to.

A grinning Dean, green eyes brightening the room, clinks bottles with first Cas, then Donna, on to Jack and Rowena, ending finally with me. Our eyes meet across the table, a wordless reconciliation. 

That, at least, is something to celebrate. A slow smile spreads over my face.

*

I'm reading everything I can find on triangle matings, with a particular focus on the relationship between the alpha and his beta. It was once common for wealthy, powerful alphas to have both a beta wife and an omega mate. Usually, the wife was for status, the omega for reproduction. The wife for public viewership, the omega for companionship. The wife an ornament, the omega a brood mare. The two constantly pitted against each other. Not exactly a recipe for conjugal happiness. 

Except in the extremely rare event that all three members of the triangle were true mates.

Jess and I never had any interest in threesomes (we were propositioned quite a lot). Would we really have eventually both fallen for a beta? Never mind that neither of us was ever particularly attracted to betas. (Not I haven't been with any, but, well, without that enticing omega smell, women--and men--are just pretty pictures, warm bodies. Nothing I'd want for more than a night).

I close the book with a huff, stop myself from throwing it against the wall. Wouldn't want to damage one of the Men of Letters' priceless volumes. Instead, I slam it onto my desk. The resulting thwack is almost satisfying.

"What did that book do to you?" Dean chuckles, barges into my room. He opens a can of beer, hands it to me.

We really have made up. "So, no more alpha posturing over Cas?"

He takes a swig of his own beer, grins. "Not worth it." He pauses, frowns. "I mean, he is, but . . . ."

I put my hand on his arm. "I know what you meant." He's right. We have always valued each other, our brotherhood, over everything. That should not change simply because some dead goddess set us up to pine after the same (forbidden) omega.

"We'll figure this out." He holds out his can for me to clink.

"We will." I hide my sigh, force myself to smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After watching this week's episode, I'm wondering if the sweet, innocent Jack I'm attempting to portray here will ever again cross our screens. Sad to think he might not.


	7. Scalding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone's curious, I was on vacation. I spent a week scrubbing the house in preparation for my in-laws watching the kids. And another week in San Diego helping celebrate my brother's marriage (though they actually eloped in January).
> 
> Yes, I adore my new sister-in-law!

Castiel's POV:

Empty. I'm so empty it hurts. Deep inside my core, my vessel's womb clenches. Cramps blossom throughout my abdomen, my lower back, and, most intensely, my channel. Slick drips, drips, drips into my boxers. The forest loses its verdant shade, turns golden. I blink, but my sight remains jaundiced. My normally blue eyes must be shimmering amber. An increasingly frequent occurrence these past few days. Has it been days? How long has it been since this interminable heat began?

More importantly: How long will it continue?

I close my eyes, allow my grace to build. Refreshing coolness races through my body, dampening the flames of desire, madness, temperature. An omega is hot in so many different definitions of the term while in heat. So many frustrating, confusing, tantalizing ways.

I open my eyes. Green foliage. Overcast sky. Tiny purple wildflowers. My sight is clear again.

Not for long. Already, coils of warmth and lust ignite within me. Soon I will be a conflagration, desperate for an alpha, a knot. As the seemingly unending cycle continues.

"Hey, Cas," Sam pants. He's been running. Rivulets of sweat drip down his torso, soaking the shirt straining across his muscled chest. He lifts a (big, long-fingered) hand to push his wet hair off his glistening features. Sparkling, affectionate, concerned eyes capture the green of the scenery as they gaze upon me.

My chest tightens. Did I forget to breathe? Not that I need to breathe. Now I'm breathing too fast. Almost hyperventilating. 

A cool hand stretches over my forehead. "You're burning up," he rumbles softly. "And the way you smell . . . . Every alpha in Lebanon will be here if the wind picks up." He glances around, frowns. "We should get you back." A damp arm encircles my shoulders, enveloping me in musky scent.

I breathe it in, lean closer. I have a vague comprehension that previous versions of this vessel would have found this sweaty male unappealing in sight, smell, and touch. But omega me can't get enough. I whimper, press against his side.

He chuckles, squeezes me tighter. "Let's get you inside."

So protective, so strong. "Yes, alpha," I say dreamily. What happened to the powerful seraph who led armies? I seem to have become a submissive, needy, stereotypical omega. Sam carefully leads me around a puddle, nearly lifting me as we skirt the edges. Maybe I don't care. Maybe I could be both. I would certainly smite anyone who came between us, interrupted this blissful moment.

Sam glances down at me, bites his lip. "Cas, what . . . what were you doing out here anyway?"

I lift my head, meet his exotic eyes. "Ceiling fans are an inadequate replacement for wind."

He dimples, lips quirking in amusement. "That they are."

I glance down. "Also, there are too many people--too many scents--in the Bunker. At the moment. I wanted to be alone."

The arm around me loosens, disappears. Sam steps back, rubs his face. "Oh. Okay. Sorry. It's just . . . . Look, I know you're an angel of the Lord, I know you can protect yourself. You could probably smite all the alphas in Kansas without breaking a sweat." A hollow laugh. "But your heat scent is messing with my mind, makes me want to take care of you, hide you from the world."

My breath catches. I want that. I don't need that--he's right--but I want it. Sam's impressive bulk between me and any who might try to take me from him. And, if necessary, me between Sam and any who might try to take him from me. I move forward, press close against him, raise to my tiptoes, lift my face. Close my eyes. Whisper, "Please, alpha."

Sam's powerful arms slide around me, his lips brush mine.

I moan. Slick gushes, perfumes the air.

Sam's left hand slides beneath my trench coat, caresses the damp seat of my trousers. He buries his face in my neck, scenting me. I can feel the pounding of his heartbeat where his chest aligns with mine. His ragged breath whooshes against my collar, the sound tickling my eardrums. I tilt my head in acceptance, submission, invitation. 

"No." Sam gently disentangles us. "We can't." He sighs. "It wouldn't work, anyway."

Disappointed lust clouds my rationality. It doesn't help that the smell of his arousal still hangs in the air, pungent, alluring. "You can't know that for certain."

"I can." Determination hardens his features, making him look remote, dangerous, handsomer than ever. "An alpha can only have two true mates if one is an omega and the other a beta female. There has never been an exception."

''I've been a beta female," I protest. "My vessel was a beta female for two hundred years, until" I close my eyes "until she was exploded in the process of rescuing your brother. From Hell." I step closer. "Besides, it doesn't matter. A true mating is the binding of soul to, in my case, grace. It is unrelated to the gender of my vessel!" My eyes flash blue in fury, frustration.

"Yes," Sam says, "but you are male. Your grace is male. You can never truly be a beta female, not even if you wear one." He turns away, mumbles. "And I wouldn't want you to be."

His rejection burns, the flames of embarrassment chasing away--for a time--those of desire. But I can't fault his logic.

"Come on." Sam grabs my elbow. "Let's get inside before Dean wonders where we are."

*

Dean, in fact, is waiting just inside the door. "There you are," he says, surreptitiously leaning forward to inhale my scent. He frowns, glares at Sam. "What did you do out there?!"

Sam raises his hands. "Nothing. At least, not much." He glances at me, pain darting swiftly across his features.

I roll my eyes. "I'm still unclaimed, if that's what you're asking."

Dean turns to me, anger still whisking through his alpha musk. "I know." He softens. "I can smell that."

My periphery shows Sam clenching his fist. Tension swirls around the three of us. I say the first excuse to leave that pops into my head. "I'm going to go find Jack."

A hand curls around my bicep. Dean's. "Wait. I wanted to talk to you." Green eyes filled with alpha confidence immobilize me.

I blink, whisper, "Okay."

A throat clears behind me. "I'll be in the library if you need me." Sam's mild tone buzzes with undercurrents of jealousy and warning.

"Sam." Dean's voice is quiet, regretful, almost pleading. The brothers stare at each other for a stifling beat, communicating silently. After a moment, Sam drops his gaze, nods. Dean continues their silent discussion aloud: "You know it has to be me. We have the 'profound bond' or whatever."

"I know." Unsweetened chocolate could not be more bitter. "But, thanks to this spell, this 'gift,'" he shakes his head, "It feels like he's my omega. The thought of watching him with someone else . . . ." He shudders.

Dean's fingers twitch, like he wants to hug his brother. He doesn't. Instead, he meets his gaze for another lengthy, weighted moment.

Sam breaks contact with a sigh, heads for the stairs. He pauses beside me. "I wish . . . ." He shakes his head. "You don't need to know that. I hope this works: I want you to be happy." The hand he claps on my shoulder trembles; his downcast eyes shine red with unshed tears. 

I gulp, reach for him, but he's gone. Long legs carrying him far from me.

*

Dean takes my hand, leads me to his room. His grip so masterful, his scent so powerful, his presence so overwhelming. Slick drips from my channel, coats my thighs. I want this. Or, my body wants this. Either way, I'm shivering with anticipation, already imagining Dean throwing me on the bed, crawling up over me, his long hair falling over his face. Woah. Wait. Long hair?--When did my fantasy replace Dean with Sam?

Dean, who gallantly ushers me into his bower. Whose eyes glow red with lust, anticipation. Whose face is almost too gorgeous to be real. My breath catches just looking at him. Him and me: This is right, isn't it? Shouldn't it be? I chose Dean over my own family on multiple occasions. Every chance I got, in fact. I've felt connected to him since the day I raised him from perdition. My true mate has to be Dean. 

It's the only logical explanation.

The memory of Sam holding me in the woods needs to be excised from my brain.

I slowly blink, walk into Dean's room. 

The lock clicks behind me. Powerful arms spin me. I'm pulled into an intense, passionate, devouring kiss.


	8. Bursting

Dean's POV:

I fold the trembling omega in my arms, capture his lips. Slightly chapped but so soft. Warm. How was Jimmy a beta when he had these full lips, luminous eyes, delicate features?--Almost seems a waste for a beta to be so wonderfully pretty. And, seriously, how did it take me so long to notice that my best friend is gorgeous? It's not like I haven't been with plenty of male betas. (Sam's the straight one). 

And why am I thinking about Jimmy and betas when I have a stunning omega in my arms?

I roll my eyes at my own obtuseness, return my full attention, devotion, admiration to Castiel's mouth. He moans. I respond by sliding my hand beneath his clothes, around his back, below his waistband. He jumps.

"Sssh," I whisper, suppressing a chuckle. "I'll take care of you." I slip one finger down, down inside his boxers to tease at his hole. So wet, so loose. So ready for my knot. Now I'm suppressing a groan.

I push his trench coat off his shoulders, start walking him backwards toward the bed . . . .

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Trust Sam to find an excuse to interrupt us. "Go away!"

I'm answered by Rowena's smooth, seductive accent. "Much as I might find your humiliation amusing, Dean, I don't want to see the handsome angel suffer."

Cas steps away from me, straightens his clothes, frowns at the door.

"Rowena found a spell to find true mates," Sam calls from the hallway.

I knew my brother was responsible for my blue balls. "Sam," my voice comes out in a growl, "We discussed this. Cas has to be my mate. He can't be yours."

"Or," Rowena simpers, "he might not belong to either of you posturing alphas."

Cas turns to me. "She has a point. We should make sure we're mates before we do anything." He walks calmly out the door, the only evidence of our activities the flush on his face, the scent of his slick.

I throw the nearest object I spot--an ancient stapler that was on the desk when I moved in--across the room.

*

Rowena stirs a drop of my blood into a wooden bowl, lights the ingredients on fire, starts chanting in a language I don't recognize.

"Ancient Greek," Sam mouths when I subconsciously glance questioningly at him.

Rowena pours some of the mixture onto a world map. The red, viscous liquid spreads out, squiggles, spirals around until it all collects in the center of the United States. "Well," she comments, "At least you won't have to relocate."

I lean forward. Sure enough, the potion has clearly chosen Kansas.

Rowena snaps her fingers. "Jack, could you be a dear boy and find me a Kansas map?" She points at an atlas sitting close by the kid.

Jack eagerly complies, flipping through the book so rapidly it's doubtful he will actually locate the correct page.

He does, though, and it isn't long before we're watching my blood dance around the cities and counties of the state until the rivulets rendezvous directly on . . . .

"Lebanon," Rowena reads. She looks up, mischievous eyes meeting mine. "Well, Dean, looks like your soulmate is here."

I turn thunderously to Sam. "I told you!" I leap up, reach for the angel beside me. "Come on, Cas, let's finish what we started." I pause to glare at my brother. "Uninterrupted." 

"Not so fast." Rowena smirks, mascaraed eyelashes fluttering. "The spell's not finished yet."

I glower. "It doesn't need to be finished. We know the result!"

"Do we?" She winks.

The ginger witch pours the final dregs of the potion directly onto the table. Thin scarlet streams fan out, race in the direction of each person at the table, change course before dribbling into anyone's lap, double back, brain into one line, point inescapably at . . . .

"Donna?" Shock bleeds into my voice.

*

Donna leads me to her guest room. I follow her blindly, blankly, still bewildered by this development, but just barely clear-headed enough to understand why she wouldn't be interested in using my room--it's still brimming with pheromones from earlier.

"Did you know?" I query once the door closes behind us.

She shakes her head. "Sometimes I wondered. But the scent-blockers we're required to wear in the police force work both ways. We can only smell enough to know someone's designation. Don't want to get overcome by lust when you're arresting someone!" She laughs, the sound a touch gritty from self-consciousness, discomfort. Her unblocked scent clouds with the sharpness of fear. Fear of rejection, probably.

My alpha instincts to protect, to soothe have me wrapping my arms around her, murmuring words of comfort. I bury my nose in golden curls, distantly appreciating her omega sweetness--better, by far, than the perfumes some of my beta hook-ups slathered themselves with. In fact, Donna should seriously consider marketing this smell. I bet it's even stronger lower down this magnificent body.

"Easy there, buddy," Donna gasps.

Without realizing it, I've been running my hands all up and down and around her curves. "Sorry."

"Don't be." She kisses me.

Passionate, heady, intense.

My brain doesn't reengage until we're knotted together on the bed minutes (hours?) later. I carefully maneuver us so that she's flopped comfortably on top, voluptuous limbs splayed around me. She presses a lazy kiss to my chin, smiles dreamily, blissfully down at me.

The haze of lust clears from my brain, along with the fog from the true mate gift. I sniff the air. Donna smells of sweat and sex and sated omega. Roses, leather, lemon. She smells like mate. My eyes widen.

"It worked, then?" She regards me thoughtfully. "Gotta say, this was the most fun curse-cure I've ever participated in." She wiggles, causing frissons of pleasure to skate up and down my knot.

"I don't think I'm quite cured yet. Might need a bit more spell-work." I draw her down into a kiss, spin her onto her back, so I can thrust as much as my fully-expanded knot allows.

She squeals, giggles, reciprocates.

Later--much later--we lie curled up together, my arm around her, her head pillowed on my chest. Donna absentmindedly traces invisible lines between the freckles on my torso, creating an abstract connect-the-dots.

She pulls away from me with a sigh. "Listen, I was happy to help with this. But you don't have to feel obligated. To stay with me or whatever." She picks at the thin Men of Letters standard-issue thin tan blanket. "I know you wanted Castiel. I won't stop you from being with him." Her hair falls over her bare shoulder, curtains her face. "People choose mates who aren't their true mates all the time."

I lean over, brush her hair behind her ears, rub away the tears that had just started to fall silently from her lovely eyes. I look deeply, sincerely into those eyes. "I don't want Cas. That was the curse, gift, whatever. Now that it's gone, I don't think of him that way." Quite the reverse, actually. The memory of making out with my best friend has me feeling queasy. Like I'd been kissing Sam. I rub my stomach. "Cas is my brother. You're the one I want."

Her eyes light up, fill with joy and mirth. "Convince me," she challenges.

I snake my arm back around her. "If I'd been able to scent you, I'd have known you were mine the moment I saw you covered in powered sugar from those donuts."

She laughs. "Same. They sure were tasty."

"So are you." I pull her back into my embrace, meld our lips together. Donna and I share the same taste in donuts, burgers, beer, guns. Conversation has always flowed easily, effortlessly between us. She's beautiful, courageous, selfless. Even without scenting her, I should have recognized her for my mate years ago.

The next time we make love, I sink my alpha fangs into her pale neck, making her mine for all eternity.


	9. Exploding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finally time for some Sastiel!

Sam's POV:

Dean and Donna leave the room together, Donna glowing with joy and optimism, Dean hesitant. But there's a kernel of hope nestled deep within the stormy, confused depths of his eyes that tells me those two will be okay. Besides, it's not hard to recall the level of sparkling chemistry that sizzled between them every time they met. I suspect that the only reason why Dean never went after her was a sense that she could never be just another one of his conquests.

"Now that Dean is settled, we should test Sam."

I whip around, startled by Castiel's sanguine tone. Shouldn't he sound less collected; shouldn't he look more than mildly regretful? He's been in love with Dean for years! Hasn't he? Besides, "I think we should start with Cas--he's the one suffering," I insist.

Cas cocks his head at me, blue eyes boring into mine. "You are the one who survived the loss of his first true mate. You are the one who watched his brother die over and over. You are the one who spent centuries being tortured by the devil. My vessel's suffering is nothing to that." He glares, stalks over to me. "You deserve the happiness my father intended for you." His outstretched finger taps my chest.

The warrior of Heaven before me is about one second from displaying his wings. I gape. Swallow. Attempt to formulate words to explain why the impressive, selfless, gorgeous angel before me is more worthy of joy, love, contentment than I could ever be. Tainted, flawed, stumbling, selfish me.

A titter interrupts my dower thoughts. Right, Rowena's sitting a few feet away. Probably laughing at the expressions chasing each other across my face. I close my eyes, silence the inappropriate witch-related epithets dancing across my mind (Jack is also still in here), turn to her.

She smiles. "It's so cute the way you two want the other to go first. It's also unnecessary." Her painted lips curve up.

My patience withers. "Seriously?! Okay. So, I can handle celibacy, if I have to. It would be aggravating, but I can do it. But he" I point at the man beside me "cannot be in heat forever. I mean, I guess he could find a new vessel. But this soul magic. Or grace magic. In his case. So that wouldn't even make a difference, probably, and . . . !" I stop to catch the breath I inadvertently held while shouting, realize Cas has been yelling, too.

" . . . been violated so many times, in so many ways. And, now, you're telling him he can't even have the one good thing that could come out of this! Furthermore . . . ."

Rowena raises her slender arms. "Settle down, handsome." She winks at Cas. "I have no intention of leaving your giant in a permanent state of" she glances pointedly at my groin "frustration." She smirks. "There's no need to perform the spell on you two because the magic from the first one allowed me to see that the two of you" she waves a long, manicured, puce nail between Cas and me "belong together."

I straighten, scowl at her. "That makes no sense. People only have two true mates if all three of them are different genders. To promote stability and fertility. Alphas who claimed to have two omegas always turned out to be lying because they wanted a harem. It's not possible for Cas to be my true mate." I peep at the angel, find he's studying the floor. Ruby suffuses his normally tanned face; his fists clench. "Not that I don't really, really want him to be," I add quickly.

Cas grows still redder. The eyes that meet mine fluctuate from blue to gold to blue to blue-gold before finally settling at their usual blue. He steps even closer to me, tilting his head to keep eye-contact. I take a breath, struck by the reminder of our six inches difference in height. I want to minimize it by picking him up, wrapping his legs around my waist. 

A throat clears. We jump apart, prompting Rowena to raise an amused eyebrow. "I'm impressed, Sam," she says to me, "that you are so filled with self-loathing that you would use that big brain of yours to reason your way out of happiness."

I glance at Cas, who shrugs. "I . . . ."

Rowena ignores. "Tell me, wee Jack, what do you see when you look at these men?"

Jack frowns, confused. "Two of my fathers?"

Rowena shakes her head, softens her tone. "No, dear. Other than that. Use your nephilim abilities to look at them."

Jack squeezes his eyes shut in concentration. When he opens them, they glow the cold, inhuman, metallic gold--so unlike an omega's warmth--that mark his hybrid status. I suppress a shiver when those orbs drill into me. His eyes fade to their usual color as his face lights up. "Oh!" he exclaims. "They're reaching for each other. Sam's soul and Castiel's grace. There are places where they were" he pauses "entwined."

Rowena claps her hands. "There. You see? Your essences have already started to connect when you haven't even done anything. Or, not much anyway." She considers us. "I would guess a kiss."

My face heats.

"Now, go!" Rowena adds, shooing us. "Get consummating! Break the curse of this true mate gift."

*

The moment the door to Cas' room shuts, the angel is on me, pressing me to the door, smashing his mouth into mine. I grasp his upper arms, move him a tiny bit away from me, gentle the kiss. "There's no rush," I whisper into his ear, when we separate slightly for the air I need and his vessel thinks he needs. "We can take all the time we want."

The omega trembles in my arms. "My heat is getting worse. I can use my grace to calm it, but I don't want to. I want you to help." He drops his face into my throat, inhales my alpha musk. When he lifts his head, his eyes have turned completely gold. "I need you, alpha."

I gasp at the sight and tantalizingly sweet scent that accompanies it. Fresh organic cherries. Simultaneously wholesome and decadent. Natural and exhilarating. I'm rock hard between breath of omega-scented air and the next.

Cas lies spread out on the bed with my knot pushing into him before my brain catches up with my body. He gasps beneath me, breaths coming faster and faster until he screams "Sam!" as he climaxes, milky-thin omega ejaculate coating his chest. His golden eyes flash angelic blue as his beautiful features light up in ecstasy. Something soft brushes against the bare skin of my back. Feathers? Did Cas wrap his wings around me?

And since when do I have a wing kink?

I gulp the oxygen I'm suddenly thirsty for as I subconsciously increase speed, pounding into his compact body. I muffle my groans into the smooth skin of his tempting neck. My knot swells to full size, locking us together. My teeth sharpen, draw blood. Omega blood tinged with angelic flavor. I come with a roar that's more animal than human--the roar of an alpha claiming his mate.

*

I awaken still buried deep within my omega's body, still mostly on top of him. On top of my much-smaller omega. Oops. I jump away.

Cas blinks up at me in confusion.

"I'm so sorry, Cas. I didn't mean to fall asleep on you. Did I crush you?" I'm rambling. "I can't believe I'm already failing as a mate after less than a day."

Cas rolls his eyes, smiles fondly. "Sam, I'm not human. Your alpha remembers that even when you do not."

This is very sweet, but "I outweigh you by a good thirty pounds. That can't have been comfortable." 

A chuckle. "I don't need to breathe or sleep. I assure you I was very comfortable." He looks up at me through his eyelashes. "I very much liked being crushed by you." He sits up, stretches luxuriously, eyes glowing with grace as all of the bruises and scratches from our exuberant lovemaking fade away. Thankfully, his mating mark merely heals into a vivid, prominent scar. I swallow my sigh of relief when I catch a glimpse of movement behind his shoulders.

I blink. "Are those . . . . Did I just see your wings?"

He cocks his head. "You might have. Let me stretch them again." He rolls his shoulders, unfurling from the ether a pair of sparsely-feathered but still beautiful azure wings.

My jaw drops. I can't resist reaching to finger the silky plumage.

Cas closes his eyes with a soft moan of pleasure. "It must be a consequence of our mating." He blindly pulls me back onto the bed. "I wish you could see them the way they were before . . . before Metatron."

"They're gorgeous, anyway. Everything about you is gorgeous." I bend to kiss him. "And" I brush my hand across the tiny blue feathers beginning to poke out "It looks like they'll be as full and fluffy as they ever were before long. Maybe another consequence of our mating?"

His eyes pop with awe and joy as he examines the new plumage for himself. "It must be." He grabs me, pressing our lips together in a passionate, enthusiastic embrace. 

I respond by pushing him down onto the bed and attacking his neck, sucking hickies all around and over his mating mark. He gasps, wraps his legs around me, pulls me so tightly, so perfectly against him that I'm breaching him before I quite realize it.

Fireworks ignite within me. I start thrusting into his moist warmth, pounding into him with the full knowledge that the man in my arms is no mere delicate omega but a powerful angel, who will not break, who responds to rough sex with cries of "Harder, alpha, harder!", who wraps arms and legs and wings around me as he meets my rhythm, who comes with an elongated scream of my name.

I follow him into completion, collapse on top of him. Once my breath slows down, I roll so he's on top, staring down at me as I relax beneath him. I gaze up at him, admiring his vessel's beauty, realizing that--thanks to our bond--I can now see beyond that to the actual angel, the 'wavelength of celestial intent' that is Castiel. Silvery impressions of wings, halo, multiple faces, a long undulating body that should be much to big for Jimmy's 5'11 frame but somehow isn't. "You know," I whisper, "I still don't understand how we could be true mates."

Cas cups my face. "Sam. Not all cases of true matings are recorded."

I frown. "I know, but . . . ."

He covers my mouth. "Not all true matings are recognized. There have been many times when it was perceived as a tragic first love, not the fated match it was, because the survivor lived to mate again--to find another true mate."

I gently remove his hand. "Are you saying Jess . . . ." I can't finish my thought. The memory of my beautiful Jess and her cut-short life (because of me!) will always be painful.

Cas nods. "Jessica Moore's fate was always to die young. Her longest possible life had her dying of leukemia at twenty-five."

I gape, ignore the tears collecting in my eyes.

"I asked Billie about it, once." He studies my frown lines, adds. "I did not understand why you--so brave, so selfless, so true--were so unlucky in love. I wanted to know if you ever could have found happiness with Jess."

I drop my eyes, fiddle with the blanket. "I get why you never told me about this."

He nods. "Yes. The point is that you have two omega true mates because you were always going to meet us at different stages of your life."

This only answers one of my concerns.

Cas covers my mouth again. "Stop."

I narrow my eyes at him. Stop what?

He answers my silent question. "Stop thinking that the man who saved the world over and over is unworthy to be my mate." He adjusts his position, sending shocks of pleasure down my knot. "We were always meant to be together. There were sparks of literal electricity when we first grasped hands. You must remember that." He lifts his hand.

How could I ever forget first seeing, first touching this glorious creature. "I thought that was because you were an angel."

"And I thought it was due to your demon blood." Chagrin dims his features. "We were both wrong."

I grin. "It only took us a decade to figure that out. More than a decade." I caress his jaw, noticing the coolness of his skin. "Your heat is over. I figured it would last a full cycle, even if you mated. Jess' heats always lasted a full week." I shrug. "Guess breaking the curse just returned you to your usual angelic state."

Cas' eyes narrow in thought. A pulse of grace travels down his body as he performs a self-examination. He freezes, face clearing of expression. "That's not the only reason my heat stopped." He places my hand on him stomach. "Hope you're not averse to raising another nephilim."


End file.
